The cleanest, emptiest subway station in world is the Clay Street Station in Boston, Massachusetts. It's clean, clean, clean. No bums. No urine. No trash. It's nicer than my apartment, really. Not that my apartment is covered in urine or panhandlers or anything. Anyway. Moving on. The station is deserted, save for one man, a neatly dressed businessman who looks a lot like George Costanza. Costanza looks around the empty station nervously, and fiddles with his collar. A bald thug -- who bears a remarkable resemblance to former MTV DJ Matt Pinfield -- lurks in the background, eyeing Costanza. Costanza mutters into his collar that he has a possible "1013" (ha ha. Not) on the premises. So he's either crazy, or an undercover cop. Because a crazy guy who talks to his shirt would be both amusing and entertaining, my money's on the latter. Jaws-like music rears its ugly, clichéd head on the soundtrack. I make a sandwich. Pinfield lurks and glares. I make a pie. Pinfield lurks and glares. I put together a six-course meal for twelve and weave my own napkins and tablecloth. Finally, the empty subway train clatters into the station. Costanza scampers inside, looks around, and gives his collar the all-clear. The train (you do call them trains, yes? We don't know from subways in Los Angeles. I mean, we have one, but I don't use it, because it runs on, like, a four-block radius in the middle of downtown. I wish I could take it, because every time I get on, for example, BART, I feel very urbane and cosmopolitan. On the other hand -- but we don't really have time for my thesis on why Los Angeles will never have decent public transportation, the short version being that it was purposely constructed as car country ["In answer to your question of several months ago (heh), yes, you call them 'trains.' Unless you're Glark, in which case you call subway trains, streetcars, and LRTs 'buses,' even though they're totally not." -- Wing Chun]) shudders out of the station. Costanza settles in for the ride. As Costanza heaves a sigh of relief, Pinfield crashes through from the other car, lurking and glaring all over the place. Costanza doesn't say anything to his shirt, but quietly draws his gun. Pinfield threateningly smacks his gum. As he approaches Costanza, the subway slams to a halt, spilling both of them to the floor. The lights go out, and Costanza's gun clatters to the ground. He reaches for it as Pinfield lurches toward him. As we cut to a shot of exterior of the subway, Costanza starts to scream. They're killing independent George!
Restored to power, the train pulls up at more populated station. People begin to pour in. A woman looks down to see Costanza laying on the floor of the car, his face half eaten away. Screaming ensues.
Fade in on Transit Operations Center, Boston, Massachusetts, 10:34 AM. The Land of No Date Stamp. Scully and Doggett swing into the shot, overcoats billowing -- Angel-esque -- around them. Scully's especially covered up, with a turtleneck and a long dark coat, fastened at the collar, but open the rest of the way down. Her hair looks good, too; it's not as pouf-y as in episodes, and is a bit more casual. Hair is important, people. The dynamic duo meet with the Deputy Chief of the Transit Police -- a crabapple named Karas -- and his lapdog, Detective Bianco -- who, you can tell already, is a big fat dickhead. Because Karas is An Insensitive Curmudgeon, he dispenses with pleasantries. "Where the hell have you been?" he barks. Scully and Doggett exchange glances. Scully calmly explains that she had to examine Costanza's body. Karas makes some dismissive noises in her direction. His main concern, it appears, is getting the trains running again -- which even I, public transport virgin that I am, know is the last thing the transit police ever worry about. "What I need from the FBI now is a time frame," Karas snorts. Yeah, I'd like a time frame too, dude, because by my calculations, Scully's water ought to be breaking right about now. Scully kind of sputters that they can't really give him a time frame, exactly, because she doesn't even know what they're dealing with. Karas blusters that the mayor is paying him to keep the trains running, and run they will! Okay, Type A, take it down a notch. Doggett gives Karas his best steely-eyed glare, which has no affect whatsoever. Karas spits that the agents have five hours, and then he's putting trains back on the tracks, face-eating demon or no face-eating demon. Scully's all, "no, you aren't," and Karas is all, "yes, I am," and Doggett's all, "glare." Scully purses her lips and reminds Karas that half of Costanza's bodily tissue was eaten away, and that, until they know why, they aren't opening up the tunnels. Dickhead busts out his own pet theory, which is that Costanza was attacked by some lunatic with a bottle of acid or lye in his or her pocket, and that all they need to do is track down said lunatic and lock him or her up and throw the key into the bay, like so many boxes of English tea. (You thought I was going to let this entire episode pass with shoe-horning a Boston Tea Party comment in there somewhere? It doesn't say "hack" on my business cards for nothing.) Scully doesn't even bother to eyebrow Dickhead, but wearily repeats that she needs to run some tests to find out what killed Costanza. Karas flares his nostrils and flaps that the CDC found no biological or chemical assailants in the tunnel. Doggett reaches GlareCon 4. "At least, that's the cover story," Doggett snarks. Dickhead and Karas stare at him. "It's the story you're feeding the press," Doggett coldly elaborates. Hey, I think that was a burn. Karas shoots Doggett a super-quick look of death, and turns back to Scully, snipping that they have to solve this case within the five hours, because "come hell or high water," the trains are running at 4 PM. He and Dickhead stomp off.
“ Doggett makes his surprised face -- which, like Mulder's surprised face, looks basically the same as his regular face. ”
Down in the tunnel, we meet the rest of the fools who will be investigating the flesh-eating whatever-it-is. The chief structural engineer has a name, but I didn't catch it, don't want to rewind, and know none of you give a shit. Let's call him Tubby. Just because. He's a leetle chubby. But, hey, Boston? Middle of -- well, who knows when, but Boston is cold, right? Who doesn't put on a little extra poundage when it's nippy out there? ["That's my excuse. Even in August, when I'm anticipating the cold winter months to come." -- Wing Chun] Alongside Tubby is an attractive black woman, who tersely introduces herself as "Dr. Lyle, special pathogens branch, CDC." Scully gives Lyle the old once-over, and wonders why she's there if the CDC cleared the tunnel. "Moral support," Lyle spits. God, what a bunch of grumpy Guses. Karas snips that they're just covering all their bases. Scully responds with a minor eyebrow. Lyle wants to know why the FBI is there. Good question. Scully is presented as an expert in "equivocal death." Tubby makes a crack to the effect that if you're dead, you're dead. Scully explains that she specializes in "deaths for which there is no explanation, or for which an explanation is hard to find." Doggett falls under the microscope, and cracks that he's "just a good shot." I have to say, Doggett isn't really my type, but he looks pretty cute in his tight little t-shirt and manly bulletproof vest. He, Lyle, and Tubby load up on their firearms, and he notices that Scully hasn't put on her bulletproof vest. "Need some help getting into that?" he asks. She draws him away from the gaggle and tells him that she's staying above ground. Doggett makes his surprised face -- which, like Mulder's surprised face, looks basically the same as his regular face. She explains that she wants to "analyze" the situation from above, thinking that she'll be better able to get a grasp on the situation from a distance. Doggett shrugs, and tells her that she's the one with all the experience with this kind of thing, so.... Scully tells him that she needs him to be her "eyes and ears" down in the tunnel, and Doggett looks either at his feet or at her belly, and agrees. He looks her right in the eye and holds his gaze there for a moment, like he knows something's up and he knows she knows he knows. Good acting by Robert Patrick in this scene.
11:51 AM. The transit control center looks just like you'd imagine a transit control center to look -- all blinking lights and neon maps, and it totally reminds me of this episode of Blind Date I saw recently, where for the first part of the date (you know, the "wacky activity" section, which is generally followed by "awkward dinner" and then "trampy hot-tub action" or "cab ride of rejection"), the couple got to go into the transit control center for the New York subways, and learn about how the trains run, and what keeps them running, and so on, and the couple was totally bored, but I was really interested in it, and that entire episode of Blind Date just totally made me realize that I am a dork. The Orchestra of Public Transport soars as Scully hooks herself up to a microphone like Madonna wore on the Blonde Ambition tour, and a little more Madonna is exactly what this episode needs, let me tell you. She and Doggett are all set up so that they can talk to one another. Whatever he's seeing is projected onto a fancy screen in the middle of the transport center -- and, wow, were they prepared, to have thought to bring all this complex electronic equipment with them. Scully tells Doggett that they've "powered down" the line, and that he, Lyle, Tubby, and Dickhead are cleared to hit the subway floor. As Scully peers at the screen, Crappy Transit Tsar Karas glares at her back, arms crossed. Scully turns to look at him, sighs, and just looks generally put-upon -- an expression that Gillian Anderson has down to an art.